Chapter 4
The humiliating half-plunge off the balcony must have been more violent than Felicity realized.
She’d been “distracted” in the shower, so she hadn’t noticed the blue-tinged bruising across her back and right ribs until her last stop in the bathroom.
Now, after two hours unloading and organizing ten-pound bags of organic potting soil, her body was screaming at her.
Fucking thirties. She was only six months into them, and they were already awful.
Felicity sat down on the top of the pile and untwisted the cap of her water bottle. After a few large gulps, she rubbed the sore areas along her spine.
“You okay?”
She jumped and twisted around, an extra surge of pain shooting down one leg and leaving her breathless.
“Oh my god. Can you stop lurking like some kind of—of—”
“Lurker?” Nic was across the little patio fence, leaning against the cow monstrosity that stood on the far side of the entrance of C’est la Vache. He held a tape measure in one hand and a notebook and pen in the other.
“Stop sneaking up on me.”
“How about you start paying better attention to your surroundings? I’ve already had to save your life once today. It’s not my fault you’re distracted.”
She looked down her nose at him. “I would’ve been fine.”
His bottom lip jutted out as he nodded, the expression oozing sarcasm.
Felicity stood, unable to stop herself from wincing as the dull ache in her neck sharpened. “Wait. What are you measuring?”
“Trying to decide if, once we equitably split up this space, we’ll be able to fit four or five small bistro tables. It’ll be tight, but I think we can configure it into a cozy space as long as our patrons don’t mind the smell of fertilizer.”
The pain in Felicity’s back seemed to vanish as fury marched her up to the fence. She exhaled through her nose and clenched her teeth around her words. “We are not dividing up this space. It was decided—”
“Look, I know you’ve had this little cushy arrangement where you’ve gotten to take advantage of the other businesses here—”
“Take advantage—”
“—but C’est la Vache is successful. We need more space for seating. More business for us, along with the current renewed interest in houseplants, will mean more business for you.”
“We talked about this this morning. I said no. Final answer, meatball man.” Was she being stubborn? Yes. Would Aunt Jeannie be proud? Also yes.
“Oh, angel cake, this isn’t up to you. You know the actual language in the property lines agreement as well as I do, and the Greene family is legally allowed to take back their half at any time with thirty days’ notice.”
The angel part of the “angel cake” dig stirred over a decade of latent wrath into a boil.
“Do not call me angel cake—for one, angel food cake is a highly disappointing form of cake, and for two, Marshall’s dad will—”
“How about gingersnap, then?”
Fury stole all of her words.
“Marshall’s dad agreed when I told him that we are booked out for two months. If we can add more tables by building a terrace dining area, he could recoup his start-up expenses quicker than predicted, even considering the additional investment of buying heaters for cooler weather, et cetera.”
“I already have people registered for my next three potting classes. And I need this space for storage when I have to bring all the plants in during the winter.”
“You know, there’s a really excellent public storage center five minutes from here. Having all of those pots and bags out here is an eyesore anyway.”
“Eyesore.” Her mouth pinched together. “You son of a—”
“This whole area has been run like a dysfunctional family business for too long. None of you are going to be able to keep up with the maintenance costs of this old building if you don’t evolve.
And evolving right now means you need to move your stuff out by the end of the month when my contractors come to fix up this patio. ”
“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”
“I’m assuming your lawyer is the same lawyer your aunt used. Wallace Randalls?”
Felicity’s silence was admission enough.
“Wallace is a great fella. You know, he’s also on the city council committee that’s consulting on the decision about that park grant. We’re going to go golfing next week and talk about it.”
Felicity gritted her teeth. Men’s club bullshit.
“When I told him the things I was going to tell you this morning before you yelled at me—after heroically saving your life—Wallace was very open with me. Found all the documents really quickly and answered the questions I had about the idiosyncrasies of this ownership agreement between Marshall’s dad, your aunt, and the Powell family.
Very nice of Dr. Powell to buy the parochial school.
You know it probably saved your aunt from bankruptcy back in the early 2000s? ”
Felicity did know that, actually. But bringing it up right now was just plain mean. Maybe Aunt Jeannie would come back from beyond the grave and haunt him.
“Nic, I need the money from those classes to get me through to spring.” Her aunt had left some major debts due to some essential plumbing repair work, but if she could make it through until spring, the business would have a shot.
Nic shrugged. “If you hadn’t slammed the door in my face this morning, I would’ve discussed this with you first, and maybe we could have come up with another arrangement.” He took a step toward the fence. “But as it is, I had to do what’s best for the restaurant and take steps.”
Felicity mirrored the movement. Only a few inches and a short wrought-iron fence separated them now.
His skin shone with perspiration. Stupidly long lashes rimmed his green eyes.
Unfair for a man to have lashes like that, but why the fuck was Felicity thinking about that right now instead of the immediate threat to her business?
“What do you mean steps?” Felicity pursed her lips.
“I went over to talk to Dr. Powell this morning too.”
“You … what? You talked to Samantha’s grandpa?”
“He was very interested in that pocket park grant. I told him my concerns about the overall appearance of the outdoor space. We’ve all agreed to have a meeting in a couple days before the community forum about Bruce’s stupid parking garage idea.”
“Meeting about what…” She wanted to explain that the parking garage wasn’t just stupid.
She wanted to tell him the full reason why the parking garage would kill her business, but why bother?
Nic wouldn’t understand. He was here to make Marshall money.
Maybe this was all a way to put her out of business without making it seem like he was putting her out of business.
Then he could take over her side of the old church building and feed double the customers. She couldn’t trust him.
“If we want St. Clare Circle to attract high-end businesses and increase foot traffic, we have to make some changes. Dr. Powell has a couple office tenants moving out soon, so it’s in his best interest to improve the look of the area too.
And with this grant, the money will be split between one half going to the three current owners—the Powells, the Greenes, and now Felicity—and the other half to the municipality for use in upkeep of the pocket park. ”
“Really?” Still, she wasn’t ready to give up yet. “You’re playing right into Bruce’s hands.” Felicity angled her head derisively. “He sure didn’t have to work very hard to manipulate you into doing exactly what he wanted.”
A muscle in Nic’s jaw tightened as he shifted his weight toward her.
Nic was one of those people whose voice became quieter, not louder, when he was angry, and he did not appear to appreciate being lumped together with Bruce.
“Do not imply that I’m being manipulated by that misogynistic boomer blowhard.
This outdated arrangement is detrimental to everyone involved. ”
“My aunt was well respected and well loved here. Her business was well respected too, and there’s no way that you and Bruce are going to ruin it by forcing me to do things differently than she did.”
“Christ, I’m not trying to ruin…” He took a deep breath, tightening his grip around the wrought-iron fence post next to the one she was holding. “The meeting’s on Friday. Come. See what we have to say.”
Felicity opened her mouth to speak, but words couldn’t break through the chaos swirling in her brain.
Nic’s chin lowered, his lips parting. His smug triumph shifted into something else …
something very different. His gaze drifted down to where Felicity had been frowning.
Instinctively, her tongue dragged over her lower lip to wet it.
Her mouth was suddenly parched. She should go get her water bottle, but her body refused to move.
The unseasonable heat must be addling her brain. Like some sort of febrile delirium.
It wasn’t fair that someone could be such a jerk and have seaglass eyes that glinted in such a mesmerizing way. They had tiny flecks of emerald that caught the sunlight. His stubbly beard was a sandier color than the rest of his hair, grizzled with silver and gold.
“Look,” Nic began, but it didn’t seem like he knew how to end that sentence. His tone was less combative than it had been. Almost apologetic. “I’m sorry. Everything went wrong from the beginning. I just…”
“What went wrong? And you just … what?”
His face fell. “I needed this to work, and I’m fucking it up. I should have come over here sooner and talked to you, but I thought…” He frowned, eyes moving as if he were reading something in her head.
“You want your moo-mac hot spot to work. I get it.” Felicity’s voice went even quieter. “I want the shop to stay open.”
Even as she was saying it, part of her wanted to give up.
It would be easier.
No.
She would not rehash this particular internal struggle with him staring at her.
“I need my shop to stay open.”
“That’s not what I…” He sighed and matched her volume. “I never suggested you close it. For the record, I’m trying to save this place too.”
“What a hero.”